


Safe and Sound

by PerfectlyHopeless



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Domestic Violence, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, One-Shot, result of a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 17:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2118090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyHopeless/pseuds/PerfectlyHopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a few more months. He'd only had to wait a few more months. But they kicked him out and left him on his own. So he turned to the one place where he hoped he could find refuge. </p><p>(result of a tumblr dialogue prompt "shit, are you bleeding?")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe and Sound

**Author's Note:**

> I've gotten such incredible feedback for this fic on tumblr that I decided to post it here as well. This is the result of a dialogue prompt using the line "shit, are you bleeding?" Apparently I nearly made some people cry? I'll let you be the judge, so enjoy~
> 
> Note: Jean’s mom calls him “mon ange” which means “my angel”. I thought it would be appropriate.
> 
> [The original tumblr post on my blog.](http://hopeless-alchemist.tumblr.com/post/94318278506/if-youre-still-doing-them-id-love-to-read-jeanmarco)

It was hard to understand what had happened. He thought that he’d been quiet about it, that he could keep everything a secret until he got out of high school. He only had a few more months left. Why now? Why not later when he became an adult and they couldn’t do anything about it.

Marco sniffled, the taste of his own blood still in his mouth. A grimace crossed his face as he spat at the ground. Everything hurt. His shoulders, his back, his chest, and his face all hurt like hell. He’d gotten the shit beaten out of him and he didn’t even want to know how bad he looked. He just kept walking, hoping he was going in the right direction.

 _He lives down this street, right?_ he thought, coughing slightly. He could still taste blood and it brought him close to tears.  _Please be home…_

Luck was on his side as he rounded the corner. The house he was looking for was just down the block.

 _Please be home…_  he thought, again and again as if doing so would increase the likelihood of finding a place to stay.

He straightened out his clothes and tried to stand as straight as possible. Letting out a shaky breath, he reached for the doorbell.

His hope was restored when he heard voices calling from inside and footsteps shaking the house as who he was looking for came bounding down the stairs and opened the door.

“Hey Marco, what…?” Jean trailed off when he saw Marco, amber eyes growing wide. “Oh my god. What happened?”

Marco cleared his throat and swallowed. “M-My parents,” he started, voice hoarse. “Th-They found out. My dad, he…”

Jean reached out and touched the side of Marco’s face, causing him to shrink away and cringe. “Shit, are you bleeding!?”

“I-I don’t know. But they kicked me out of the house. Jean…”

He blonde turned around to shout. “Maman! Marco’s here and he’s hurt!”

Footsteps sounded from upstairs, Jean’s mother coming down. Her eyes widened as well when she saw him. “Oh my!” she exclaimed. Mrs. Kirschtien nodded towards the back of the house. “Get him in the dining room. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Jean nodded and turned back to Marco, offering a hand. Tears welled up in the taller boy’s eyes as he accepted the hand and allowed himself to be led into the house. The home smelled warm from the cotton scented candles Jean’s mother loved.

He sat down on one of the wooden chairs, wincing when he did so. His ribs hurt and breathing had become painful.

“Marco,” Jean started, sitting across from him. He took hold of both of Marco’s hands and tried to meet his gaze. “What happened?”

“My parents… they found out about you. My dad he… he kept throwing stuff at me and hitting me until I got out of the house. I… I don’t have anywhere to go.” Tears started to fall down his cheeks and Jean moved to wipe them away.

“Hey,” Jean said, his tone gentle. Marco looked up and met his gaze. His amber eyes were soft as he continued to hold his hands. “You can stay here. Okay? We’ve got the guest bedroom, and I’m certain my mom will be okay with you being here.”

Marco nodded and sniffed again, trying to hold back tears. “Thanks.”

Jean smiled at him. He went stiff at the sound of footsteps and turned around, meeting his mother’s gaze. “That’s okay, right Maman?”

She nodded and moved closer. “It’s fine, mon ange,” she said, stepping forward and pushing them apart so she could set the kit on the table. She turned to Marco and spoke softly. “Marco, dear. I’m gonna need you to take your shirt off so I can see the bruises. Jean, can you get me a washcloth? Not soaking, but damp.”

“I know, Maman,” he said, standing and leaving.

Mrs. Kirschtien nodded and took the seat Jean had previously been on. “Shirt off dear.”

Marco complied, wincing as he pulled it up over his head. There were bruises all over his rib cage and his back, small cuts on his shoulders.

His gaze shifted upwards to Jean when he returned. The blonde stepped forward, kneeling as he started dabbing at the cuts on his shoulders and cleaning off his face. Marco closed his eyes, biting at the inside of his bruised cheek to keep from making any sounds.

“Jean, go get some ice for his bruises,” she ordered, keeping calm as she set to work putting tape and gauze over the cuts.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kirschtien,” Marco said, his voice still hoarse.

“Of course, dear,” she said, the slightest of a French accent coloring her words. “I know that you’re parents don’t approve, but you’re safe here. Ever since you and Jean met he’s matured. You’re good for each other.”

He nodded as she touched his face, rubbing some kind of disinfectant on the cuts. It stung, but it helped to alleviate some of the pain. Jean returned with a cold pack with a cloth wrapped around it.

“Here,” Jean said, handing it to him. “You’ve got a nasty bruise on the left side of your face.”

Marco grimaced slightly and nodded, holding the pack to his face.

“Mon ange, do you have any clothes Marco could borrow?” Mrs. Kirschtien asked, looking up at him.

Jean nodded. “Probably. I’ll go get you another shirt.”

Tears tried to prick at Marco’s eyes again. He swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in his throat, grateful for the caring nature of Jean’s mother. His own mother had been like that, but when she and his father had found out about his seeing another boy, that caring look shifted into horror. It made Marco feel horrible, as though he were a monster.

 _Calm down!_ he ordered himself, closing his eyes tight. He felt like he was going to cave in on himself.  _It’s not your fault!_

Mrs. Kirschtien reached out to him, placing a gentle hand over his. “Marco,” she started. “You can cry if you have to, dear. Some people aren’t accepting of things. I’m sorry it had to be your family.”

Marco bit at his lower lip, a nervous quirk of his. He almost instantly regretted doing so, having forgotten about the split in his lip. The tears won and he choked on sobs as they tried to escape.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Mrs. Kirschtien said to him. She smiled gently at him as she moved to the opposite end of the dining area, going into the attached kitchen.

More footsteps. Jean came down the stairs with a plain navy t-shirt made of soft fabric.

“Sorry if it might be kinda small,” he apologized in advance, handing Marco his shirt while his free hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’ve got a ton of clothes, though. So I can loan you just about anything you need.”

Nodding, Marco set down the cold pack and took the shirt, rubbing at the fabric for a brief moment before slipping it on over his head, the softness of it miraculously not rubbing too hard at his then sensitive skin. Jean sat in front of him again, taking hold of his hands and not letting go until his mother brought them tea.

“Jean, when you boys are done can you help him to the guest room?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She nodded as well and looked between them. “Marco, did you have any school work you needed from your home?”

Marco went stiff. He’d completely forgotten about school. “I…”

“Maman, can’t we deal with that later?” Jean stopped him. “It’s a Friday, let’s get things settled before we go too far.”

She raised a brow at this, but didn’t object to it. “Alright. Let me know when your father gets home. I want to talk to him about all of this.”

Licking at his lips, Marco looked up at her. Jean’s father worked with the local police department. A thousand thoughts filled his head and he started to worry about what would happen, but they were cut short when Jean spoke to him.

“Hey,” he said, trying to meet Marco’s gaze. He offered him a crooked smile. “Just relax. We’ll figure things out, alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” Marco agreed, smiling slightly in return.

“Well, I’m going back upstairs. Don’t cause any trouble,” Mrs. Kirschtien warned. She said something in French that got Jean riled up and he retorted back to her. All she did was laugh as she made her way down the hall.

Marco’s brows furrowed. “What was that?” he asked.

Jean slumped in his chair. “Don’t worry about it. She’s just being a mom.”

“That’s her job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, and she does a damn good job of it.” He looked up and gave him the same crooked smile. “There’s a TV in the guest room. Wanna get you settled in and watch some random late night shows?”

A smile tugged across Marco’s bruised face, stopping only when the split in his lip pulled. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

The two of them finished their tea and made their way up the stairs, Marco going up first in case he fainted from exhaustion and needed to be caught. Luckily nothing like that happened and they settled into the guest bedroom easily.

The room was clean and comforting, like the rest of the home. They sat together on the bed, Jean taking control of the remote while Marco curled up against him. The smell of his boyfriend put his mind at ease, despite everything. His presence was calming, and feeling his arms holding onto him carefully gave off some semblance of peace.

For now things were okay. They might not always be. Things could get worse tomorrow, or maybe they’d get better. But nothing could take away that moment. The moment when things weren’t exactly perfect by any stretch of the imagination. The moment when he felt safe for the first time in months, when he had been hiding everything from his family and lying through his teeth until then.

They would be okay.


End file.
